


You Have Me

by GoldenDaydreams



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Short & Sweet, soft, very light angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:53:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25358758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDaydreams/pseuds/GoldenDaydreams
Summary: After so many personal losses, Ciri worries. Now that she is travelling with Geralt, how long until she loses him too?
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 8
Kudos: 68





	You Have Me

Ciri stared into the fire, watched as the flames licked the logs. One fell, and sparks danced up into the air. There were bitter reminders everywhere of the fall of Cintra. Death and destruction. Patches of scorched earth. Commoners stating their opinions about her grandmother, her parents even though they had long since passed, Eist, and Mousesack too. Those in towns blamed Calanthe for not stopping Nilfgaard in the same breath they cursed her for being a stuck-up bitch, like any of them had ever been lucky enough to meet her. 

Geralt always grabbed her shoulder when it happened, firm but gentle with his guidance when she wanted to lash out, to scream, to break something, to tell them all the good things—the best things about the grandmother she’d loved so much. About her parents. About Eist. About Mousesack. About the knights who’d protected her. She clenched her jaw, trying to keep from letting her emotions show. Everyone she’d known, and loved were now dead—if not dead, then their lives had been irreparably altered for the worst. 

_Cursed,_ she thought to herself, _I’m cursed, and everyone I love will leave me by choice or in blood._

She’d only been travelling with Geralt for a little while. He kept her safe, fed, warm. He was her destiny, but she still didn’t know what that meant, and she didn’t trust that he would somehow be the exception to the rule. She wondered how long he would live. How far they would travel together before he too fell to the blade of a soldier, to a mob of violent villagers who hate witchers , or to some form of monster. 

How long until she was utterly alone? 

Her fingers trembled, and she grabbed fist fulls of her cloak pulling it in closer in hopes that the shakes would be brushed off as a chill. 

Across the fire, Geralt glanced over at her with a frown. “Do you—” he looked at Roach like she might help him get the words out past his clenched teeth, “—want to talk about it?” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, with as much of the haughty princess attitude as she could muster. 

Geralt stared at her a long moment, but nodded and looked back to the fire. The two of them quiet for a long while with nothing but the crackle of the fire, and the occasional snort from Roach. Apparently 

“You’re not going to push?” Ciri whispered. 

“No.” 

The quiet lingered, a promise kept. 

“Every one I love is dead.” It seemed safe to whisper it in the night, under the stars, the fire between them, neither of them looking at the other. A confession that wouldn’t be brought up later. 

Geralt hummed, acknowledging he’d heard her but said nothing. 

“I miss them,” she said after a minute, trembling, blinking fast as she tried to keep the tears from falling. “I miss them so much, and it hurts.” Once the floodgates had opened, she was powerless to stop. Her lower lip quivered, words tumbling as her tears fell, “I’m scared you’ll be next and I’ll be all alone. I’m scared. I don’t want to be alone again! I have no one!” 

She rubbed her eyes, trying to pull herself back together. Geralt was a witcher, not a nurse-maid. She sniffled, and jumped when something moved beside her. Blinking away tears, Geralt settled in her vision, having sat down on the log beside her. 

His hand on her shoulder. He stared at the fire. “You have me, and I’m hard to kill.” 

He didn’t give her an empty promise, he gave her a fact. Of course a seasoned witcher was a force to be reckoned with, faster healing, potions, and signs all designed to give him an edge against any opponent. 

She sniffled again, leaning into his side, let his arm wrap around her shoulders. “Promise?” Because she was still a little girl, and believed in the power of a promise given. 

She felt the answering pressure in his grip, that gentle squeeze. A silent, _I promise._


End file.
